


A Creepy-Crawly Treat

by Fluxx



Series: The Spook Cruise, 2017 [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Isabelle can't cook, Magnus throws a party, Rizzy, Rizzy bakes cookies, halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluxx/pseuds/Fluxx
Summary: Isabelle shows up at Raphael's apartment in a panic: unsurprisingly, she's completely burned the cookies she was supposed to make for Magnus's party. Raphael helps her prepare a new batch, just in time for the evening's festivities.Prompt response for The Spook Cruise, 2017: Rizzy +baking Halloween cookies.Submit a prompt for The Spook Cruise!





	A Creepy-Crawly Treat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unbreakable_Vow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unbreakable_Vow/gifts).



Isabelle burst through his door so suddenly, he damn dropped his blood-filled wine glass upon the book he’d been reading. “Raphael,  _quick_!” she cried, even before he’d finished recovering from the near-fall. “I need your help!  _It’s an emergency!!!_ ”

“Jesus, Isabelle, calm down!” he scolded, sweeping from his couch to the counter she’d descended upon with an otherworldly grace. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour. Did something happen? Was there a demon attack? Did a Mundane get hurt?”

She paused her scurrying just long enough to look up and frown at him. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous!” Her hand reached into the plastic bag she’d brought in and pulled out a glass tupperware. A swift yank of its rubber lid released a small puff of smoke into the air between them, which she quickly waved away with her free hand amid a fit of coughing.

“What the hell?!” Raphael scowled, helping her clear the smoke. It was times like this he felt truly grateful he’d been liberated of breathing. Peering through the clearing fog, his keen eyes picked out a pile of what looked to be round coals, like those black massage stones people were so fond of. Upon a second glance, he realized they weren’t stones at all. He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Cookies? How long did you leave them in for?!”

“They’re  _supposed_  to be black,” Isabelle protested. She whipped out her phone and pulled up the browser, showing Raphael the Pinterest recipe she’d been following. “See? They’re little spiders! It’s adorable, right?”

Raphael shook his head and muttered to himself, taking the phone from her to get a closer look at the recipe. “Okay, but  _why_?”

“I promised Magnus,” she admitted. That alone had realization dawning on him, but nonetheless she continued, “You know his party tonight? I promised him I’d bring a Halloweeny desert. He and Alec have been so busy decorating the loft and herding together the guest list and arranging lodging for out-of-town guests and I just thought—”

He quieted her with a small wave. “I understand, I understand,” he sighed.

_Oh boy_ , did he understand.

_“…Simon? You know you can’t actually digest those, right?”_

_“Huh?” he replied around a mouth full of cookies. “Oh, I know! I’m practicing!”  
_

_Raphael grimaced, watching chewed crumbles spill from Simon’s mouth. “For what?”_

_“Magnus’s party!” Simon grabbed a napkin and spat the rest of his mouthful out, wiped his mouth clean, then turned back to Raphael with a grin. “He said there’d be a cookie-eating contest! Winner gets one wish, anything they want. I figured - hey, we don’t need to eat, right? Which means we also don’t get full, right? All we gotta do is get over how everything tastes like shit, and we’ve got this **in the bag** , Raph my man!”  
_

_“You’re disgusting. And don’t call me that.”  
_

At the time, Raphael had written it off as some practical joke Magnus was playing on Simon. Now, he understood the  _true_  intent of the “contest.” Finally handing Isabelle’s phone back to her, he reluctantly glanced back at her catastrophe. “Alright, well, first off, we need to get rid of this.”

“ _Excuse_  me?” Isabelle indignantly pouted. “Do you know how long I worked on those?!”

“I suspect that’s part of the problem,” Raphael noted, narrowing his eyes as a tiny shard of white caught his eye - a piece of egg shell, no doubt. He shuddered, then snatched up Isabelle’s tupperware without another warning and dumped the “cookies” in his waste bin. “Come on, I’ll help you. You’re lucky Rosa isn’t diabetic.”

Isabelle grinned, perching upon one of Raphael’s bar stools and watching him retrieve the ingredients from his cabinets. “Thank Rosa!”

They worked through the recipe the way they usually did, with Raphael measuring and preparing all the ingredients and Isabelle handling the mixing and… well, in this case, just the mixing. Though Raphael would dare not say it outright, the two of them had discovered fairly early on that their efforts yielded more appealing fare if Isabelle stuck to just the manual labor elements of the cooking, nothing that would influence the amount or quality of the ingredients themselves. Luckily, cookies were a relatively simple thing to accomplish - soon enough, they were dividing the dough out upon the baking tray while the oven preheated. (For which Raphael had double-checked the temperature behind Isabelle’s back, of course.)

Raphael snickered, watching Isabelle anxiously eye the oven. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready?”

“Fifteen?” she asked with a quirked brow. “Hah! I’ll be done in  _ten_.” With a flip of her hair and a turn of her heel, she strutted swiftly away towards the bedroom, deft hands already working at the clasp of her tight, red dress.

He shook his head and chuckled, wandering lazily back over to his abandoned glass of blood. “I’m pretty sure that’s what got you in this mess,  _mi querida_ ,” he mused to himself, swirling his drink a bit before bringing it to his lips. With his spare hand, he pulled out his cell phone and glanced at his texts. For a moment, he debated letting Magnus know he wouldn’t have to worry about the cookies anymore… but, with a devilish smirk, ultimately decided against it, pocketing the phone and returning to his drink. After all, Magnus had brought Simon’s eagerness upon himself - if the young vampire ended up making a scene hoarding what turned out to actually be highly desirable treats, that was on the Warlock, not Raphael.

Sure enough, the cookies were done long before Isabelle. Raphael didn’t mind, of course - in fact, it was probably better this way. It gave him the perfect excuse to pull them out, apply the chocolate icing, and add the licorice legs before Isabelle found an opportunity to add one of her infamous “personal touches.” In part thanks to his natural speed, and in part thanks to Isabelle’s meticulous arranging of her hair, Raphael was already placing the final spider-cookie upon one of his sterling-silver serving trays by the time she re-emerged, her presence announced by her shocked gasp.

“You finished  _without_  me?!”

Raphael glanced up and gave her a toothy smile. “Figured it’d save time,” he offered in excuse. Placing down the cookie, he walked around the counter to approach her, looking her over with an appreciative smile. “ _¡Ay, que linda!_ ” he replied, a tiny gleam highlighting his dark eyes.

She wore a form-fitting black dress, one so long her black pumps were hidden beneath tendrils of fabric that trailed along the floor. Her sleeves opened wide at the wrists, like dark and frayed cobwebs, and the neckline dove in a severe V far past the base of her Nephilim rune. She’d straightened her hair, leaving it looking like a waterfall of black ink, and silvery shadow highlighted the rounds of her eyelids. Only a single splash of color punctuated the ensemble - the brilliant, rich red of her lips, which offered him a catty smile. “Alright,  _your_  turn to get ready, my sweet Gomez!”

“I’ll be right back,” he acquiesced with a nod. It’d been her idea to go as the iconic Addams couple, and he had aggreed to it, but as he turned the corner he threw out a finger and yelled back over his shoulder, “But I am  _not_  wearing that damn mustache!”

She offered only laughter in reply, then occupied herself with admiring his craftsmanship with the cookies. He truly  _did_  have quite the talent… She sighed at the thought such a gift would go wasted on someone who couldn’t eat any of his own creations. As her mind wandered, head held upon an upturned palm, her eyes slid around his kitchen, pondering all of the cutlery and knick-knacks and spices he kept around…

…Her eyes fell upon a jar - “paprika,” the label read. Warily, she checked over her shoulder, and with no sign yet of Raphael’s return she snatched the jar and descended upon the cookies.

_Just… Just **one**  more touch! After all, spiders are fuzzy little things, aren’t they?_


End file.
